


the language of petals

by aslanjades



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, M/M, Valentine's Day Fluff, childhood AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 07:52:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17783489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslanjades/pseuds/aslanjades
Summary: Sing befriends the quiet boy in class who seemingly knows everything about everything and learns a thing or two about love and life along the way.(Written for 2019 Banana Fish Valentine’s Day Secret Exchange.)





	the language of petals

THERE WAS SOMETHING CURIOUS ABOUT SING’S CLASSMATE.

The boy, who always wore his hair in plaited pigtails that fell just past his shoulders and onto his back, sat at the front of the room. His hands were always perfectly folded over on his desk, his legs perfectly crossed at his ankles, and his nose perfectly stuck into a book all the time—the same book every single day of the second grade year.

His name was Yut Lung, though he was commonly called Yue by their classmates and never protested the nickname. Sing had heard both variations a dozen times each, most often when their teacher would gently scold him and ask him to stop reading during lessons. He would either oblige or pull his book under his desk and onto his lap, sneakily casting glances at the words when the teacher was thought to not be looking.

Judging by how much he read, despite the lack of variation in _what_ he read, Sing thought he had to be the smartest person on the planet. He could not pay attention during lessons and still understand. He could hardly participate in spelling exercises yet earn perfect scores on the test every time, then humbly hang his head when he was commended for it. He finished math assignments with astounding speed, even the hardest ones that tripped Sing up.

He was like a superhero, really. Sure he didn’t have the muscles (they wouldn’t look so normal with his short stature anyway) and Sing doubted he went out and fought crime at night like the heroes in his favorite comics did, but he had the brain of one. Sing absolutely admired it.

There was something curious about Yut Lung, because even though he could accomplish all of the amazing feats that blew Sing away, he seemed to be . . . disconnected from his classmates. Rather than being stunned by his smarts, their classmates regarded Yut Lung as a know-it-all. Confused his intelligence for arrogance. 

At recess, Sing could hear them whispering, muttering “show-off” and laughing about it amongst them. Laughing at Yue as he sat against the brick wall of the school the same way he always did rather than playing, his legs crossed as they always were and his nose in the same book that stayed attached to him like a fifth limb.

At that moment, Sing thought of what Nadia, his older, wiser cousin, had told him once. 

As she was practicing vocabulary with Shorter once, reciting words for her younger brother to remember and listening to their definitions, one word caught his attention.

“What’s a coward?” Sing asked before Shorter could respond with the definition. Nadia, sitting at the dining room table, leaned down a bit to match his height and talk to him directly rather than towering over him like she usually did—like anyone usually did. Especially because he started school a year early and all of the kids around him were older.

“It’s like . . . a scaredy-cat. You know, a big baby, someone who runs away when they have to be strong. It’s the bad guy who leaves because they’re afraid of facing the hero.”

As Sing looked around him, at the kids on the playground who sneered at Yut Lung, he determined that they were cowards. They were afraid of facing the hero, and he was not. 

Sing, unlike the rest of the _cowards_ , thought the hero was really, really cool.

So instead of leaving him alone with his thoughts as he always did, Sing walked over to Yue and sat right in front of him. At first, he didn’t do anything, violet eyes moving back and forth as they read the words on the page. Then, he suddenly broke out of his trance and looked up at Sing.

Their eyes met, and it was the most awkward thing Sing had ever experienced. He looked down, behind him, around him, then back at Yut Lung. Curiosity getting the best of him, he blurted, “Why do you always sit like that?” 

“My mom sits like this. She says it makes her look proper.”

Proper, Sing remembered, meant right. Was it the right thing to do? Had he been sitting the wrong way this entire time? Was anyone going to tell him before then?

Sing slowly crossed one leg over the other so he could seem proper too. “Like this?”

Yue nodded, then went back to reading his book. Even without Yut Lung looking, Sing stayed like that. It was a bit strange and uncomfortable, but it was the way a hero behaved. Who was he to ignore that when it could make him a bit more of a hero? Maybe he would pass his next spelling test too.

A silence fell over them, and Sing found himself fidgeting as he thought of something to say to fill it. Lacking a better thing to say, he asked, “Why do you always read that same book? Haven’t you finished it already? I know you’re super smart.”

Yue looked up again, shrugging. “I finished it, but it’s my favorite book, so I keep reading it again. My mom gave it to me.”

“Well, what’s it about?”

The shrill sound of the school bell blared, disrupting their conversation. Within moments, footsteps pounded on the blacktop and Yut Lung uncrossed his legs, stood, and walked away, not even answering Sing’s question.

* * *

There was something curious about how Yue always sat alone at lunch. 

He clearly looked isolated, curled into the space where the benches lifted up and into the wall. His legs were crossed as they always were, and his book hid his face. Any other kid would look gloomy as they sat at the end of the table by their self, but Yut Lung seemed to be unbothered.

He seemed equally as unbothered when Sing slid down the bench, pulling his Batman lunchbox with him, and spoke the title of the book aloud with his head tilted to the side. “ _The Lan . . . Language of . . . Petals_? What’s that?”

Yue lowered the softback, hiding the view of the brown cover with various images of flowers ranging from sunflowers to roses and the title written in almost unreadable cursive lettering. They were only just learning how to write and read cursive, and the font was a huge step-up from the simple, neat one in their handwriting books. 

“It has all different meanings of flowers and the times to get them in it,” Yue explained, closing the book and setting it onto the table.

Meanings of flowers? Sing knew that flowers meant you liked someone, or you were sad that something happened to them and you wanted to make them happy. Like how Sing picked some daffodils for Nadia when she hurt herself and had to sit out of the rest of the soccer season a couple of years ago. But was that what Yut Lung was alluding to?

Confused, Sing knitted his brows together and let out a simple but effective, “Huh?” 

Yue just stared at him for a few moments, face indecipherable. Then he turned to the book and opened to a random page. “Flowers mean different things. Some flowers stand for love. Some flowers stand for happiness. There’s a ton of them.”

He flipped through the book, and Sing watched as he did so, admiring the drawings of the various blossoms. When he landed on a page that was dog-eared, Yue pointed to the plant. It looked . . . unusual. It had a long green stalk and multiple little purple flowers. The cursive label underneath it, this time legible, read _lavender_.

“My mom says this one reminds her of me. She says it’s not just because my eyes are purple too, but because the flower means pure and love.”

“But why did she give you this instead of a storybook?”

“She works as a florist in Chinatown. Sometimes I go to work with her and she lets me take care of the plants. One day, I’m going to work there too.” Yue looked up from the book. He turned to Sing, who watched him with wide, intrigued eyes. “She makes bouquets all the time, but sometimes people come in and don’t know which ones to get, so has this whole book in her head so she can help them. She’s even smarter than me.”

Even smarter than him? Sing couldn’t help marveling at the thought, even long after Yut Lung slid back into the space in the wall and continued reading. Sing passed the flower shop nearly every day as he walked home with Shorter and Nadia, but he never cared enough to really pay attention to it. 

After school that day, Sing stared at the shop with unwavering interest. It was a small, cream-colored building with a decal reading _Oops-a-daisy!_ on the window. The glass gave him a view of the innumerable flowers and plants inside, most of which he couldn’t even name. He tried to get a peek at lady he sometimes saw through the window, but she was nowhere to be found.

Nadia pulled Sing along, her larger hand cradling his, and Sing cast one last look over his shoulder as they continued down the street. 

There was something curious about the way he was so filled with wonder at something so simple that he’d missed for so long. Something mystifying.

* * *

Valentine’s Day came around quickly, and the festivities rolled in right along with the reds and pinks and the hearts and flowers.

There was always a celebration in class that included exchanging cards bought from supermarkets and participating in arts and crafts rather than learning, at least for an hour or two. Sing didn’t necessarily get the holiday, though Shorter said he wouldn’t get it for a long time because it was about love. But Sing knew love. He loved Shorter. He loved Nadia. 

Yue was absent that day, which made Sing frown upon noticing. Yut Lung rarely missed school because he was always so eager to learn, to add even more knowledge to the smarts he had already amassed. It was what Sing admired so much about him. Granted, he was never very social, so attending a school day that would end in a party with friends sitting next to each other as they sucked on heart-shaped lollipops and popped fun sized chocolates into their mouth likely didn’t sound too appealing. 

After getting home and setting the brown paper bag full of candy and cards—cards that would make their way to the trash in no more than two weeks—Sing opened his backpack, grabbed the lace-backed heart he had put together, colored, and written _HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY NADIA_ on, and stood in front of his cousin with it held to his chest.

“What’s that?” she asked. At the living room table, she did homework, a mechanical pencil between her fingers. Apparently, they didn’t do parties anymore past elementary school. The kids went on with business as usual even on Valentine’s Day. The idea made Sing view middle school and everything that came after as much less desirable than he initially thought, even though he had a considerable amount of time until he got there.

“We made Valentine’s hearts in class,” Sing explained. He reached out and set it on the table, letting her see the cursive handwriting he took pride in. “It’s for you.”

Nadia stared at the writing on the pink construction paper with furrowed brows. Sing waited for a response, sneaker-clad foot tapping against the wood floor. Eventually, she shook her head and, for some reason, began to laugh.

Sing’s heart dropped. Did she not like it? He followed the directions exactly, and his teacher told him his was her favorite.

“You’re not supposed to give it to me, silly.” Nadia handed it back to him, and Sing confusedly took it. “Valentine’s Day isn’t for family love. It’s for love of someone outside of your family. A different kind of love for a girl or a boy or neither.”

Just like flowers, love had different meanings. Puzzled, Sing asked, “So who do I give it to?”

“Give it to someone you like. Someone you think is really really cool. You don’t really have to give it to anyone at all since you just made it for fun, but I’m sure it would make somebody very happy.”

Sing immediately knew who.

* * *

There was something curious about the fact that Yue asked Sing to walk home together the next day. He never did that. Not once.

Of course, they weren’t going to the same destination, but the proximity was about the same. Shorter and Nadia still walked behind him, but Yue walked at Sing’s side, hands gripping the straps of his backpack.

“Why weren’t you at school yesterday?” Sing inquired. They hadn’t spoken much at school. Sing knew that Yue had days where he simply didn’t want to talk, and that was fine by him. Nadia once told him that everyone had bad days, and sometimes they’re like a cloudy storm; all that could done to rectify it was just letting it pass through. Letting it pass was different for everyone—for Yut Lung, it was immersing himself in his book completely.

“I stayed at the shop with my mom,” Yue said. He didn’t look at Sing as he spoke. Rather, he looked out at the street, at the people and restaurants and cars near them. “Valentine’s Day is super busy for her. Some days she works alone, but I don’t like that. I asked her if I could help her yesterday, and she said yes.”

“Oh,” Sing replied, looking down at his feet. “We made Valentine’s hearts, you know. And we gave each other cards. Like usual.”

“Yeah.” Yue nodded. “I know.”

“Would you like one?”

Finally, Yue looked at him. His eyes were wide, confused, maybe. His steps slowed. “What?”

Sing stopped, slinging his backpack off of his shoulder and onto the ground, Digging past his folders and books, he found the heart and the card he stuck in there that morning and pulled it out.

The heart _YUE_ written underneath the scribble of markers that covered Nadia’s name. The card had an animated photo of Batman and Robin in the corner. Sing gave them both to Yue, zipping his backpack and picking it back up after.

“We make a great team, Valentine,” Yue read from the card. He then looked at the heart and hung his head the way he always did when he got a compliment. Sing could have sworn there was a faint red stain on the other boy’s cheeks. Was he embarrassed? Should Sing say sorry?

Before he could apologize, though, Yue mousily said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Moments later, they stood outside the flower shop. Yue walked onto the single step in front of the door and turned to look at Sing. “Wait here.”

He pulled the door open and walked inside, and Sing impatiently waited, trying to peer into the shop through the window. He wondered what Yue was doing, was almost dying to know.

Then, the door opened again, and Yue held a few flowers in his fist and a book between a few fingers. The copy of the book he always read, specifically. Standing in front of Sing, he thrust his hand out, waiting for the offeree to take the untied, unwrapped bouquet and the book.

“These are yellow acacia flowers. Um . . . goodbye now.” Without an explanation, Yue shut the door. Sing stared at the door, then averted his gaze to the flowers and the book. He had no idea what to think of the scenario.

When he got home, Nadia and Shorter took the flowers and went to put them in a vase. Meanwhile, Sing kept dwelling on what yellow acacias were and what they meant. He tapped his fingers on the dining room table, then slowly turned his head to look at the book.

Hesitantly, he flipped it open, admiring the glossy first page. Then he turned to another page and saw another flower, repeating the process all the way until he saw yellow acacias. After dragging his finger down the page to find what he was looking for, Sing paused. 

The meaning was listed as friendship and . . . secret love. Sing’s jaw went slack. Love?

Frantic, he called Nadia and Shorter in to see. Shorter laughed and left the room, teasing Sing beneath his breath. 

But Nadia had this faint smile on her face, even as she shook her head back and forth. Nostalgically, she uttered: “Kids.”


End file.
